What Was the Lady Thinking?

Ari L. NoonanOP-ED

The Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco as seen from the northern end of Baker Beach. Photo: Christian Mehlführer / Wikimedia Commons

Dateline San Francisco – Even though we have driven here every month since last August to participate in research for Diane’s disease, this trip towered above the others.

As if warming up for St. Patrick’s Day, the mountain ranges and surrounding storybook landscapes were a deeper green than I ever have seen. They almost announced themselves: “Please admire me.”

From Ventura northward, we were unavoidably reminded of Southern, Central and Northern California’s exquisite natural beauty, which plays mellifluously into the main theme of our almost 900-mile roundtrip.

Because Diane is fighting for her life, each monthly two-day trip becomes more invasively poignant.

Sometimes the squeeze feels tighter. Harder to breathe.

Some days it feels like old times.

Days Gone By

Diane

Diane

Years ago when we had family in Santa Cruz, we made dozens of weekend trips, each one labeled “f-u-n” in giant letters, especially after our oldest grandchild was born.

No more. We act as if it is fun.

Ostensibly, it is.

Inescapably, though, an enormous black weight hangs above Diane’s head and mine.

The shadow of its ominousness never is relieved.

Our commitment last summer was to 13 months’ participation in the clinic, and even back then, when she was walking fairly well, my wife said:

“We will go for as long as I can travel.”

Today her walking almost is invisible.

Like a record that doesn’t end – please God, may it never – Diane mentions this qualifier once each outing.

It’s Natural

The richly green hillsides along the way, the glassy ocean just off the freeway, the mostly unexplored stunning skyline of San Francisco, its irresistible Victorian architecture, the swift-moving Bay Area freeways, all of them are appreciated distractions from the real purpose of our visit to sharply sloping Sacramento Street.

Our neurologist continues to classify the still-encouraging changes in Diane as “slowly progressing.”

Most of the drive home, Diane was uncommonly pensive.

When I asked what was in her mind, her reply swiveled me back to instantaneous reality.

The Ultimate Day, she said.